The Earl meets his match…
The Earl of Wycliffe is in store for a surprise when he buys a new estate. The vicar’s daughter who lives on his land is a curvaceous, green-eyed beauty about to make her debut in the Ton...and he’s assigned to chaperon her!
Max must ensure tempting Charlotte Trowbridge finds a suitable husband in her first Season. But when several men begin to compete for the debutante’s hand, the usually level-headed Max realises he might not want to let her go!
A charming Regency story by Deborah Simmons, originally published in 1995
The Vicar’s Daughter
Deborah Simmons
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
CHAPTER ONE
Wycliffe often said that had he known what awaited him that fateful day, he would never have entered the vicarage. Of course, everyone knew he was lying, and since Maximilian Alistair Wentworth Fortescue, Fifth Earl of Wycliffe, never lied, his statement was all the more astounding. But then everyone was astonished by what happened....
It all began simply enough in the early spring of 1816 with an innocent visit to a new property in Sussex that Maximilian had just inherited from his great-uncle. Compared to the Wycliffe seat, it was a small property, but prosperous. Unfortunately, the modest fifteen-bedroom manor house had not seen improvements in many a year, and Maximilian knew it would need refurbishing.
In his usual, methodical fashion, Maximilian began assessing the property immediately, determining what repairs were needed and ordering them. He introduced himself to the staff, the tenants and, on this bright March day, the third in a planned week-long stay, he set out to pay a call on the vicar.
Maximilian was neither looking forward to the obligation nor dreading it; he was simply performing his duty in his accustomed responsible fashion. His schedule had been painstakingly prepared before he had even left London, and he stuck to it with what some might view as excessive rigidity.
Not Maximilian. He prized order and kept himself running as regularly as the gold engraved watch given to him by his father. With the practiced gesture of habit, Maximilian removed the piece from his fob pocket and noted the time. Calculating one half hour to be sufficient for his visit, he strode up the flagstone path to the vicarage.
A small building nestled amongst a stand of ancient oaks and surrounded by thick, high box hedges, the vicarage was a little shabby around the edges. Maximilian spied some spots on the roof where slates were missing and places in the mellowed stone walls where the mortar had fallen, and he turned a critical eye on the ivy that had been allowed to run wild, climbing up one side of the building until it nearly reached the eaves.
Maximilian lifted his gloved hand to knock when the sound of ferocious yapping met him, and a small dog of indiscriminate breeding raced from under the hedgerow toward the front of the house. Assessing the animal in a glance, Maximilian assured himself that it would not dare to harry him and saw that it was followed by a small boy who scrambled out of the bushes adeptly.
The dog and, consequently, its human counterpart, were nearly at Maximilian’s feet before they noticed him. When they did, the child hauled up short, picked up the animal with a grunt and clutched it to his small chest. “Hello!” the boy shouted over the sounds of the beast, which was still barking rather ferociously for one so small. He grinned brightly to reveal a gaping hole where his top two teeth should be. “Are you the new lord?”
“I am indeed,” Maximilian answered.
“Papa’s been expecting you. He is probably in the parlor.” Without further ado, the youngster opened the front door and walked in, motioning for Maximilian to follow. The dog, seizing his opportunity, bolted from the prison of encircling arms and raced off down the narrow hallway.
“Patches! Hold up!” the boy cried. Racing off at top speed, he left Maximilian standing between walls hung with faded green material. Before Maximilian could decide upon his next move, an even younger child emerged from one of the rooms leading off the hall and gazed up at him solemnly. A girl, this one was wearing an overly large dress and carrying a disgusting-looking piece of material that she gripped rather fiercely. She stuck her thumb into her mouth and stared at him.
“Is your papa here?” Maximilian asked.
Without removing her eyes from him, the child pointed a fat finger, and Maximilian headed that way. His progress was impeded when the hall veered off into two different directions. He stood at the crossroads, trying to determine where the elusive parlor might lie, when he was nearly run down by two shrieking youths, chasing each other. “Oh, hello!” one yelled in passing. “Papa is in the parlor!”
Unaccustomed to such cavalier treatment, Maximilian felt like wringing their unruly necks, but he turned in the direction from whence they had come. He continued following the hallway, which opened onto various small rooms, and decided the vicarage reminded him of nothing so much as a rabbit warren. Coming upon an undraped archway, he leaned through to see a pretty little girl setting a dining table with plates. “The parlor?” he asked. Apparently used to total strangers wandering about her home, she showed no alarm but smiled and pointed across the way.
Finally! Maximilian stepped over the threadbare carpeting toward his destination, hidden away in the bowels of the building so as to discourage guests, he decided. Only the persistent made it this far, he was certain. He had counted five children. Did they all belong to the vicar?
He entered the room and was immediately irritated, for Papa was definitely not in the parlor. In fact, Maximilian thought the room deserted until a noise drew his attention to a rather worn sofa in a faded flower pattern. With extreme interest, he cocked his head slightly to one side, the better to observe a female derriere protruding from underneath the piece of furniture. Cloaked by a layer of spotted muslin, the rump nonetheless appeared quite soft and rounded.
The dictates of polite society called for him to make his presence known, and Maximilian was nothing if not well-mannered. However, some streak of wickedness, heretofore buried beneath his staid exterior, made him disregard the rules to which he normally adhered and approach the pleasing vision.
Beneath it were a pair of small feet, encased in well-worn, low-heeled kid shoes and attached to extremely shapely ankles encased in white stockings. “Oh, help me, will you?” requested the form. Far from being put out by the note of exasperation in the feminine voice, Maximilian was quite stimulated by the various ways in which he could conceivably respond to that plea.
His intriguing musings were interrupted by the appearance of one of the female’s hands, pale and smooth, thrusting a tiny kitten toward him. Dropping to the floor, Maximilian took the proffered animal, though it mewled and wiggled in a frightened manner. Another was then handed to him, and he accepted it, too, although he wondered what he would do if she presented him with any more. These two filled his hands, and he had no intention of letting them ruin his green superfine coat or his elegant striped waistcoat with their sharp little claws.
Luckily, he did not have to confront this problem, for with a delightful bit of squirming, the luscious derriere backed toward him. A head emerged from underneath the sofa, and he was met with a
lovely young woman cradling two kittens of her own. Maximilian noticed her hair first, a startling, thick mass of pale honey that surrounded her face like a cloud. Then he saw green eyes, the color of spring, staring out at him from a strikingly beautiful face. Her mouth was drawn up in surprise, but he could tell her pink lips were definitely lush.
Maximilian was not one to languish over a woman’s charms. In truth, he usually paid them little heed, having a great deal of contempt for the mindlessness of female pursuits. He had a mistress to see to his needs, and although he must take a wife someday, it was not something that he contemplated with any relish. All of which made his reaction to this particular female all the more astonishing.
For a moment they simply sat there, she on her heels and Maximilian bent on one knee, each quietly perusing the other. Then she finally reacted. “Oh!” she said softly, releasing her grip on the two kittens she held. They immediately leapt for the safety of the sofa, while she frantically began to rise. In her haste, she backed up, knocking into a pushcart that sat nearby.
Maximilian was reaching for her, to steady her, or else he might have seen the tray of jelly tarts that balanced on the edge of the cart. As it was, he noticed them only after they had been deposited in his lap when a wet sensation seeped through to his skin. With extreme distaste, he looked down to watch a pastry slide onto the floor, leaving his formerly immaculate buff doeskin breeches dripping with dark blue ooze.
“Oh! Oh, dear!” the girl cried, her clear eyes flying wide in shock at the sight of his legs dripping jelly. She grabbed for a napkin, and an entirely different sensation crept through Maximilian as he felt a warm hand on his thigh. With no little amazement, he watched as the chit actually tried to wipe the mess from his breeches. Although he suspected that her gentle massaging was only aggravating the stain, he gave himself over to the feel of her fingers stroking him through the thin layer of his clothing.
Holding his breath, Maximilian kept a firm grip on his felines while the lovely young thing muttered her apologies and rubbed him in sweet, anxious movements. He hoped profoundly that his beauty had not noticed the bulge that appeared between his legs. It was all he could do not to lean forward just a little so that her fingers might accidently brush against it.
It was daunting, Maximilian decided, that this girl barely out of the schoolroom could move him so strongly that he felt like taking her right here on the parlor floor. Looking down at that unusual cloud of hair positioned right above his lap, he imagined it: easing her back onto the carpeting and running his hands up those slender ankles to that luscious derriere, holding it tightly as he slid inside her. With a rueful smile, he realized that should he follow his inclinations, no one in the absurd household would probably notice.
He was just wondering how long he should let her continue in her delightful but inappropriate ministrations when a noise broke into his lusty thoughts and there was, one assumed, the vicar, standing in the doorway. “Ah, you have met our dear Charlotte,” he said. The man apparently saw nothing incongruous in the sight of his daughter positioned between the thighs of a stranger, which led Maximilian to wonder whether it was a vicarage or a brothel he had stumbled into.
“Oh, Papa!” the aforementioned Charlotte moaned. “Look what I’ve done.” She glanced at Maximilian, saw that he was still clutching the kittens and gasped anew. “Oh, goodness! Let me take those.” She put aside the napkin and grabbed the animals, who immediately dug their little claws into her bodice, and Maximilian discovered that her rather drab gown was stretched extremely tightly across a chest that could only be described as lush. Feeling himself harden further, he was thankful that his coat hid the evidence from the vicar.
With difficulty, Maximilian tore his gaze from the girl’s straining breasts and took her hand to help her rise. He regretted his gloves in that instant and, like some besotted fool, he held her fingers just a bit longer than necessary. Annoyed with himself, he straightened, only to become aware of his breeches. They clung to him, moist with the fragrance of ripe berries....
Maximilian took a deep breath. It was time to get himself under control. Dropping her hand rather abruptly, he tried to think pious thoughts about the vicar’s daughter.
“I have made a mess all over...him!” Charlotte said, all innocent consternation.
“It is quite all right, I assure you,” Maximilian replied smoothly. In fact, I rather enjoyed it. “It was an accident, after all. I am sorry that you lost the other two creatures you struggled so hard to recover.” A mistake that, because the reminder of her previously ignominious position caused her to color from her neck to the top of her head, where small strands of yellow hair curled about her temple delightfully.
That hair. It really was rather amazing, compared to the short tresses and elaborate coiffures popular in London. Maximilian had to admit he had never seen anything like it. It billowed about her, so curly as to be unrestrainable. Unrestrainable. Maximilian decided he liked that description and then mentally shook himself. Really, he must be getting old and cork-brained.
“Tsk, tsk,” her father said. A slender man with nondescript brown hair, the vicar wore spectacles and a distracted look, but smiled in a friendly manner. “I am sure his lordship can cope with a minor spill. You are Lord Wycliffe, are you not?” he asked.
“Most assuredly,” Maximilian answered.
“I am John Trowbridge. We heard you were up at the Great House, and we were hoping for a visit from you.”
Charlotte looked from her father to the tall, dark stranger with no little amazement. This was Lord Wycliffe? Although they had been expecting him all week, she found it difficult to believe that the devastatingly handsome man before her was the earl. He did not look at all as his reputation had painted him.
Ever since Mr. Hesby’s death, they had heard more than their share about Wycliffe. When Wycliffe gets here, he’ll set things aright, they were told. And the staff up at the Great House were all aflutter, the maids all telling one another, You had best shape up, my girl, or Wycliffe will set you out upon your ear. By all accounts, the man was very intelligent, exacting and efficient. He was expected to have the estate running smoothly right away, and the rumors of the improvements planned for the Great House...they were such that he must be swimming in money, and yet he supposedly was the sort who knew where each penny was going—and where it had been.
Consequently, Charlotte had expected someone stuffy and stodgy and old, but this man did not look as if he had seen thirty. And he was so handsome. He was, without a doubt, the most attractive man she had ever seen. Of course, Charlotte had to admit that her experience with men was limited to the population of Upper Bidwell and its surrounding area, and among the farmers, shopkeepers, retired military men and gentry from neighboring towns, there were none like him.
The cut and fabric of his clothes bespoke wealth far beyond the reach of the local residents, and he held himself with a certain elegance, an air that suggested he was accustomed to having his wishes obeyed—and promptly. It lent him a quality that was alluring in itself, but there was more. Mercy, was there more...
He had a broad face balanced by wide, dark, arched brows over great brown eyes, a decent nose, and lips that were full enough to make Charlotte suppress a shiver, though she was not quite sure why. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, and he kept it long, clipped back at the nape of his neck in the most unusual fashion. The only thing that appeared in accord with his reputation was the assessing look he had about him, as if nothing ever missed his shrewd gaze.
One of the kittens climbed upon her shoulder, digging its tiny talons into her, and Charlotte realized she had probably been staring rudely. She looked away in time to see Carrie rush headlong into the room. “Did you find them?” Carrie asked breathlessly. Carrie was always breathless.
“I have two,” Charlotte said, handing her younger sister the kittens. “The other two will have to...wait.” Charlotte dared not glance toward Lord Wycliffe, for she could already feel t
he hot blush seep into her cheeks at the memory of her previous position. What he must think of her!
“Shall I see if I can nab them?” The earl’s request, in a deep, soothing voice, took Charlotte by surprise. She flashed him a look, but he appeared absolutely serious. This dashing, beautiful man was willing to crawl under the sofa for a kitten.... Charlotte’s heart jumped up and turned over in her chest.
“No, thank you, my lord,” Charlotte said, quelling Carrie’s protest. “They will come out when they grow hungry. They were frightened by Patches. He must have gotten into the house somehow. The dog,” she explained.
“We have met,” Wycliffe said, his lips curving slightly, and Charlotte’s heart leapt again and flopped around like a landed fish. Oh, dear, this was dreadful! If she were going to let the first attractive, titled gentlemen she met turn her inside out, how would she ever get on in London?
“I had better take this tray away...” Charlotte put what was left of the tarts back where they belonged, but a stray glance led her to Wycliffe’s wet breeches. Had she actually put her hands there, on his muscular thigh? Charlotte knew it was impossible for her to blush any deeper, so she ducked her head as best she could. “It was very nice to meet you, my lord,” she mumbled. “I hope you have a lovely stay.”
Stay. The word was on Maximilian’s lips, but he called it back, knowing full well he had no business gawking at the girl. He told himself that in but a few days he would be back in London, where there were scores of females, from demireps to ton wives, who would enjoy his ogling—and more. But they were not the vicar’s daughter.
“You will rejoin us, won’t you?” Maximilian heard himself speaking and could not quite believe it. He was definitely not prone to impulsive statements, and he was definitely not the sort to trail after some female like a drooling pup. He frowned.
In response, the girl looked startled, dismayed...reluctant? Maximilian was a little stunned by that. Although he did not consider himself vain, he knew that there were very few women who were not attracted to him. But that was in town, not in an obscure part of Sussex. He reminded himself that he was dealing with a vicar’s daughter, a sheltered, innocent child who, despite her lean number of years, had the good sense to be wary of a titled gentleman showing too much interest in her. Perhaps he should try harder. He gave her a charming smile. She returned it, looked decidedly flustered and fled.
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